Apocalypse Cult (Gray Spear Society) (27 page)

He still had a job to do. He was looking through high-power binoculars at the endless expanse of water. They had already made a few passes over the lake, and he was searching for boats that he had missed the previous times. Whenever he saw one, he would write down its position and general description. If the boat seemed particularly interesting, Marina would dive down for a closer look, and he would take a picture with a camera.

"Are you ready to talk about Victor?" he said, eager to take a mental break from the tedium and sickness.

"Sure," she said. "If you want."

They had to yell to make themselves heard above the engine noise.

"I just want to make sure you're OK. Are you angry? Sad?"

"Disappointed," she said. "He was an effective teammate. He won't be easy to replace."

"That's all? You worked with the guy for years."

"But we were never close."

"What about Ethel?" Aaron said.

"Their relationship was strictly professional. Victor was an angry, broken man, and I don't think he had any real friends. There were times when I thought he might try to kill me."

"Was he a better fighter than you?"

She shrugged. "Hard to say. Ethel could certainly beat him easily."

"How good is she really?"

"She could teach a course in medical school on human anatomy. She knows exactly where all the nerves, arteries, and tendons are." Marina grimaced. "She doesn't just kill her enemies. She dissects them alive with her machetes."

"Is she the best there is?" Aaron said.

"Not nearly. She's in the upper tier of the Society, but there is a whole class of fighters tougher than her. The true elites. Frightening monsters who barely qualify as human. Yvonne used to be one of them."

"That's hard to believe. She looks so frail. And if she was tougher than Ethel, why does she report to Ethel?"

"Being the best fighter doesn't automatically make you the commander. When Yvonne was active, she could've torn you to shreds." Marina looked at the dials on the dashboard. "We're getting a little low on fuel. We should head back to the airport. Let's give it ten more minutes."

"Thank, God. I have no sensation left in my ass. Are we really done talking about Victor? You must have feelings besides disappointment."

She stared out the windshield of the airplane. "I guess I'm a little scared, too."

"Oh?" Aaron said.

"If he can die that easily, so can I."

"But you seem to love the danger."

"When I'm in the middle of it, I do, but I don't like to think about it afterwards. I also believe God had a hand in Victor's death, which scares me even more. I have some of the same... personality defects as him. I could be next on God's hit list."

He put his hand on her thigh. "That's a good reason to work on those defects. I'll help you any way I can."

She briefly smiled. "You already are helping me. I feel so much better when I'm with you. I'm not so lonely anymore." She paused. "So, you've been with the Gray Spear Society for a few days now. What do you think?"

"The whole thing still seems completely crazy to me."

"Is that good?"

"I don't know yet." He shrugged. "A lot of people have died, and we don't have much to show for it."

"Not true. We accomplished quite a bit already. The cult is scattered and much of the leadership is dead, including Simon. Our mission is halfway done."

"But is it necessary to use such extreme methods?"

"It's like treating cancer," she said. "You have to make sure every last bit is gone."

"Every last bit of what?"

"Contamination. When Sraosha touched our world, it became diseased. God's plan was thrown off. We have to cauterize the wound."

He sighed. "You're very good at rationalizing murder."

"Have a little faith." She gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. "We're experts. By the time this mission is over, you'll understand."

He spotted an interesting green and white boat with the binoculars. He pointed, and she flew the airplane in a big circle. He took several pictures through a telephoto lens, allowing him to capture crisp details of the boat. Then he wrote down its position.

"So," she said softly, "what do you think of me personally?"

He looked at her pale, lightly freckled face in surprise. "You know the answer. I love you."

"That's the male hormones talking. I want a straight, honest analysis."

She was dragging him into treacherous terrain. Long experience with women had taught him that too much honesty was never a good thing, and Marina had a terrible temper besides. On the other hand, he didn't want to lie to her. There was no doubt she could read the tiniest signs of deception. He thought about her black, venomous fingernails and rubbed his vulnerable neck.

"We just talked about it," he said. "You carry around a lot of anger. If you could let it go, you'd be much happier and easier to..."

"Deal with?"

"Yes."

"That's fair," she said. "But you have anger, too. You're still mad at the police department that hung you out to dry and at the wife who left you. Where is your forgiveness?"

He looked out the window. "At least I don't become a homicidal madman. I think you might enjoy the rage. It gives you a rush. How many times has it happened?"

She didn't answer at once. He turned back and saw her chewing her lip.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Maybe ten or twenty times." Her voice was almost buried by engine noise.

"Jeez. And how many corpses have you left behind?"

She winced. "Does that really matter?"

"Yes, damn it! This is exactly what we have to fix."

"We are instruments of divine retribution. Killing is our business."

"Don't make excuses," Aaron said. "I'm sure God would prefer that His instruments were more disciplined and professional. Am I right?"

She furrowed her brow. "Yes."

"Does Ethel ever lose control?"

"No, but..."

"Are you about to make another excuse?"

She closed her mouth.

He patted her knee. "I'm not attacking you. I'm on your side, and we'll work on this problem together. OK?"

"OK, but I'm not ready yet. I need to ease into it." She wiped her eyes. "Oops." She tapped the fuel gauge. "It's time to go back." She turned the airplane around.

* * *

Aaron was no expert, but it seemed to him the Kenosha Regional Airport was unimpressive, even by the standards of regional airports. There were just three short runways. The hangers were big enough for one corporate jet, or perhaps four small airplanes if they were packed in tight. Most of the planes were parked behind the hangers with just a roof and no walls for protection.

He had a scenic view of lush farms and forests as Marina piloted their airplane toward the airport. The City of Kenosha was to the south and west, although calling it a city was a stretch. The town was really just a remote northern suburb of Chicago.

Marina landed the plane with an awkward bump. She drove it around to a fuel station on the east side of the airport near the control tower.

She and Aaron climbed out. His back popped as he stretched his arms. He was grateful to be free from the flying torture chamber after hours of close confinement. The warm, fresh air was delightful, especially after smelling fumes for so long.

He immediately went off in search of a restroom.

When he returned a few minutes later, he found that Ethel had parked her plane next to Marina's. Technicians were refueling both planes while the two women talked some distance away.

Aaron walked over to them. "Hi. What's up?"

"You get a twenty minute break," Ethel said, "and then it's back into the sky. This time you're riding with me."

He groaned. "What about lunch, ma'am? I'm starving."

"Edward needs to download the pictures off your camera. He's waiting in the truck. If you're lucky, he might have some food for you."

Aaron knew he had no time to waste if he wanted to eat. Holding the camera, he jogged to the small airport parking lot. The white delivery truck that the Spears team had brought from Chicago was parked along the driveway. He opened the rear door without bothering to knock and climbed into the cargo area.

Edward was working inside bent over a computer station. When they had left Chicago, the interior of the truck had contained neat stacks of boxes, crates, and suitcases. Now hardly anything was still in its original container. Tools, weapons, and clothes were sorted into loose piles according to category or were stuffed haphazardly into temporary metal shelving. Edward had turned the larger crates into a workbench. The truck's running engine supplied power to three computers. Their exhaust fans pumped hot air into a space that already felt like a sauna.

Aaron gave his camera to Edward, who grunted without looking up from his computer display. He had dark circles under his eyes.

"Do you have any food?" Aaron said.

Edward pointed at a grocery bag on the floor. Aaron discovered that it contained sliced meats, cheeses, and bread. Rather than take the time to make a proper sandwich, he just ate the parts separately.

He was finishing off his hasty lunch with a can of soda when Edward gave him a sheaf of color printouts. They were full page photographs of boats, each with names and specifications listed at the bottom.

"Find these ships, sir," Edward said.

"How did you pick these?"

"Suspicious registrations and patterns of movement. Anomalous reports. Satellite photos. Don't worry about the details. I'd bet my life one of these is the one we want. Now, I need to get back to work." His eyelids drooped.

Aaron patted him on the shoulder. "You're doing good. Keep it up."

He carried the printouts back to Ethel and Marina. There were two copies of each photo, so he divided the stack between them.

"Let's get out there," Ethel said.

She and Aaron climbed into her tiny blue and white aircraft, which settled noticeably under their weight. She drove it over to the runway, and as soon as she got tower clearance, she opened the throttle to full power. She didn't ease back until they were high in the sky. He could already tell she was an aggressive pilot, and this ride would be rough. She flew east towards the search area.

"Marina told me you had a conversation about anger management," she said.

"That's right, ma'am."

"Don't try to tame her."

"That would be impossible," he said. "I just want her to be less angry."

"You're the rookie here. Maybe you shouldn't be giving too much advice."

"You told me she has a problem, ma'am. She admitted it, too."

Ethel frowned. "True, but her 'problem' has saved a mission from disaster more than once. Sometimes, a dose of homicidal rage is just what you need."

"I was a Chicago cop for several years. In my experience, calm, rational decisions always produce a better result than...."

"Quiet. I'm going to tell you a story." She stared out the windshield. "A few years ago, we were chasing a chemist who was pushing a new drug. One of God's enemies gave him the formula."

"What kind of drug?" he said.

"It was a narcotic, ten times more addictive than heroin. The chemist was still launching his operation, but he already had dozens of loyal addicts who would do anything he asked. He used his magic pills to turn innocent men and women into hopeless slaves. While we were investigating, Marina got too close and was captured. They beat her very badly. Then they forced her to take some of the pills, and instantly, she became an addict."

"Oh." The mental image made Aaron hurt inside.

"Our enemies finally let Marina go. Injured and hooked on the drug, she didn't seem like a threat. They assumed she would just follow orders like the rest. But not our Marina. Anger made her strong. She started killing, and she didn't stop until all of them were dead, including the chemist. Then she burned the place down. By the time we found her, she was almost dead herself. She had a broken wrist, two broken ribs, and was hemorrhaging. I don't know if I could've accomplished what she did. I
know
you couldn't have."

"I'm strong, ma'am."

Ethel raised her eyebrows. "You're soft. You would've calmly, rationally gone to your death."

"I don't think so." Aaron shook his head. "And if I'm so soft, why do you keep me around?"

"You have some redeeming qualities. We'll work on the soft after this mission is over. I know just how to fix that problem."

"Oh." He anticipated his training would involve a great deal of sweat and pain, but at least he would share the experience with Marina.

"My point is that Marina may be insane," Ethel said, "but sometimes that can be an asset in this business. As you try to calm her down, don't forget she still has to do her job. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

They were flying over open water now. The sparkling green surface of the lake was calm, and it reflected the bright sunlight like a mirror. He flipped through the photos and quickly tried to memorize them. All were large private yachts, between 100 and 150 feet long. Unfortunately, all had the white hulls typical of most yachts, so he would have to rely on shape instead of color for identification.

Ethel took a turn at examining the photos, one hand still on the controls. Meanwhile, Aaron used binoculars to search the lake.

They were sweeping an area that was 50 miles by 50 miles. It took about 20 minutes to fly from one edge of the square to the other, and then turn around. A full fuel tank lasted for six hours, which was enough for the entire search pattern plus a little more. It was arithmetic that Aaron had learned well while flying with Marina.

He pointed at a ship in the distance. "I think that's one of them."

Ethel immediately turned her airplane. She lost altitude and gained speed until the engine whined unpleasantly. She passed so close to the ship that Aaron could easily see the faces of the passengers, who stared back at him in shock.

"Just a wealthy family and servants." He threw the photo of that ship onto the floor.

She flew the airplane back to their original position and resumed the search pattern.